Sleeping in Short Grasses

catkinsThe sun weighs on my eyelids
like night tiredness,
and the earth pulls at my body
like the grave it will become.
Lie on me, it whispers.
Lie on me amongst
the grasses quivering to head,
amongst the vibrant faces of spring flowers,
the bees, the tiny flies,
the blue wren and his wives busy
and gossipping.

Perhaps the earth desires
we lie in short grasses
so that we will know
what cows know
so idle, they can hardly chew
that spring happens at ground level
amongst the musty mulch
of last summer’s bones;
that we open our eyes to it
that we open our eyes
after a short dreaming sleep
of warmth and buzzing things.



This is not a new poem but I share it because we are still having days like these.

2 thoughts on “Sleeping in Short Grasses

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